Turns out: Prosecco = big mistake!😕 It led to more wine being opened which led to today being a total write-off for me. Everyone knew the signs the second that they looked at me. They knew: John was in for a day of raw emotion and super-sensitivity and the kids would get piss-poor parenting. This involved me shuffling between sofa and fridge and fobbing them off with substandard food, thinly-disguised as their meals. I knew John wouldn't be much use either, having been a willing participant in last night's wine-swigging marathon.
"What's wrong with us?" I asked him, as I manhandled the kettle. "Why can't we just have a nice, civilised couple of glasses of wine? Why can't we be like one of those sophisticated couples who sip a glass over dinner and leave it at that? We've taken it too far again."
"Who do we know like that, Daisy? Anyway, you were the one who suggested the second bottle. In fact, it was more than a suggestion. You were quite insistent about it from what I can remember."
"Oh you would say that. Move out of my way. I need toast."
Around mid-afternoon, Molly and I were happily curled up on the sofa watching 'Fresh Prince' reruns and scoffing Maltesers. She was dividing my hair into a multitude of little ponytails when she innocently said, "Ooh Mum, look at all of these lovely silver hairs you've got."
"It's not a good look, Mum," Cleo very kindly chipped in from the armchair in the corner. It was the first time that she'd bothered to look up from her phone for the best part of an hour. Talk about going for the throat. "It makes you look about ten years older than you actually are."
I was up and fully vertical in a flash. "Right. That's it! If one more person mentions my roots, I'm not gonna be responsible for my actions. You wait! You wait, young lady, till you're forty six and have three kids. Let's see how your roots bear up without a hairdresser on hand!"
"God! Calm down!" I heard Cleo exclaim as I stomped out of the room.
I went directly to the last place that anyone in a delicate state of mind should go - the bathroom mirror. I took one look at the blotchy, swollen face before me, crowned with straggly, multi-tonal hair and promptly burst into tears.
It was one of those days that I looked forward to being over. I was pleased when 9pm came and I could respectably get into my pyjamas and take my book up to bed. The whole house seemed subdued this evening and when John brought me a cup of tea up at around 10, I informed him that I would be going to the supermarket in the morning. His reaction was predictable …….
How could I consider such a foolhardy expedition? Did I understand the severe risk that I'd pose to him, the kids and the cat? Had I thought about how irresponsible I looked and what a bad example I was setting to Cleo, who was quite clearly desperate to go out herself?
…..but I was ready for him. "There are some urgent items that we need, John. I really have no choice in the matter. I'll text your mother now to see if she needs me to pick her anything up while I'm there."
"In that case, if you're completely insistent, I'll go."
"Why? Because I can't be trusted? That's rather offensive, I have to tell you."
"No ….. it's just …….."
I'll save you the problem of coming up with any patronising excuses, John.
"Ok, but I need to get …. some women's products."
"Oh."
"I'll write you a list of the specific things that Cleo and I need. I'm sure someone on the shop floor will help you out, if you ask."
"Ok. Well ….. second thoughts …… perhaps it would be quicker and easier if you went."
"Good idea, John and um …… thanks for the tea."
Knowing John as I did, I knew that the thought of standing in a supermarket aisle, surrounded by sanitary products would seem more terrifying to him than any threat of Coronavirus. He didn't need to know that when I said 'women's products', I was talking about hair dye and anti-wrinkle cream 😉
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